


Castle Walls

by Roo_Bastmoon



Category: Gravitation
Genre: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 06:56:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roo_Bastmoon/pseuds/Roo_Bastmoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yuki is cruel out of self-preservation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Castle Walls

He can taste stomach acid; that thin film covering his teeth and coating his tongue. Bile. His nerves are strained to the snapping point. It takes all his effort to keep the memories at bay—the smell of gun smoke; the sound of his pants’ zipper being yanked down; his sensei’s squinting eyes as they rove along his slight, adolescent body.

Yuki hates remembering the rape and murder. Of course he does, anybody would. But more than that, he hates that after all this time, he’s being forced to think about it. To think about things like sex and love and trust.

Seriously think about it. Not just write pretty fairytales.

Sure, Shuichi is annoying. He leaves his crap everywhere, to the point where Yuki’s afraid to walk across the living room in the dark. He sings loudly in the shower. He never quite gets the dishes clean, when it’s his turn to wash. And he’s demanding. Always seeking attention, reassurance; he’s so damned needy.

Then again, he’s a warm body wrapped around Yuki during cold nights. His soft hair tickles Yuki’s chin when he manages to worm his way into Yuki’s embrace. The boy certainly gives head with great enthusiasm . . . and sounds delightful when Yuki fucks him. Plus, Shuichi brims with energy and youthful excitement, which is something Yuki hasn’t felt in forever.

Sometimes he thinks of Shuichi as a fire-eater, all that blazing heat stored up in his belly, lighting up the room, igniting people’s imaginations.

Shuichi makes him think about love. About their ‘relationship.’ About . . . why he’s just not cut out to play the part of a lover to anything other than his laptop. He’s too withdrawn; too jaded. He’s long since locked everything away, buried it in a mound of snow and let it freeze over, until things like affection and loyalty and kindness are icy flicks that, if touched, cut deep.

Yuki can be vicious. He knows that about himself. Until he met Shuichi, he never really bothered to care. But now . . . now, it’s getting harder. Watching that kicked-puppy expression. Seeing the way Shuichi will just droop from one or two harsh words.

//Scale my walls, Shuichi. I’m so lonely. Try just a little harder, and I’ll trust you.//

“Yuuuuuuki!” Shuichi calls from the foyer. “I’m home.”

He’s sitting in the dark, his computer switched off. The door is locked. He waits.

Shuichi tries the knob. Several times. “Yuki?”

He forces himself to sit still and say nothing.

“Yuki? Are you mad?” A long pause. “I don’t want to bother you . . . I just wanted to say, I’m home. It was a good day . . . Um, well, you must be working on something important . . .”

He waits, holding his breath.

“Do you want me to make some dinner? I’m not that good a cook, but . . . Um . . . It’s important to take care of yourself, you know. Eat well. Drink plenty of water. Lay off the smoking. Take vitamins.” Shuichi laughs nervously.

Yuki turns his cigarette lighter over and over in his hand.

“I—I guess you’re busy. I’ll just . . . wait. I brought home a movie, so, later, if you want a break—”

He opens the door so quickly that Shuichi stumbles and falls into his arms. Yuki indulges in that touch for one second before pushing him roughly away.

“Quit bothering me.”

“Yuki!” Shuichi tries to hug him, but he just stands there. “How was your day? Are you tired? Do you want a backrub?”

“I want you to be quiet. Go away. Go hang out with the other brats in your band.”

Shuichi frowns at that. “I spent all day with them. I want to spend time with you.”

“Well, what makes you think I want to spend time with you?”

Rather than get mad, which Yuki’s been expecting, Shuichi just . . . deflates. “Right. I mean, of course.” He straightens Yuki’s collar absentmindedly. “Don’t work too hard, okay? You’ll get ill.”

He watches the boy walk away and it leaves a tightness in his chest. His stomach twists to the point where he’s worried the ulcer is going to just get so raw he’ll spit up blood. He doesn’t know what to do.

“Shuichi,” he whispers.

The kid stops. “Hm?”

“What’s the movie?”

Bright eyes on him now. “Casablanca. The man in the video store said it was sophisticated, so I thought you’d probably like it.”

“It’s in English?”

“Yeah. No subtitles, but . . . you speak English so . . .”

Yuki folds his arms. “What about you? You’ll just pester me the whole time to tell you what’s happening.”

Shuichi shakes his head, his hair splaying around his cheeks. “No. I just . . . I just want to hold you,” he says softly.

//That’s right. Climb those walls. One hand over the other.//

He walks slowly over to where Shuichi stands, takes the video box from his hands, and drops it to the floor. Then he bends Shuichi over in a fierce kiss, clutching the smaller body flush against him. He’s eating the boy’s mouth, fucking him with his tongue, and the boy must be able to taste blood, but Shuichi just clings to him and moans.

“Yuki,” Shuichi breathes when they break for air.

Yuki gives him a smoldering look and walks him backwards, toward the bedroom. He drives Shuichi with his left hand planted firmly on the center of the boy’s chest, and with his right, he undoes the top button of Shuichi’s jeans.

“Yuki.” Shuichi reaches out to help and that’s good because it lets him run his fingers through the boy’s soft hair.

He kicks the door open and lowers them both to the bed. “You’re a pain in the ass, Shuichi.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Yuki smirks. “It’s my fault. I keep rewarding you for it.” He sucks on the boy’s earlobe.

“Ah. Oh . . .” Shuichi writhes a bit, his hands smoothing down Yuki’s shoulder blades.

He licks at the hollow indent of the boy’s throat and slides his hand between their bodies, cupping and stroking Shuichi to full hardness.

The boy pants in his ear; fingernails dig little half-moons into his upper arms. “Yuki . . . oh, please . . .”

He uses more pressure, until Shuichi is tenting his pants, then he scooches down and takes the zipper in his mouth. Ziiiiiiip. Yuki refuses to think about the past and concentrates on what he’s doing.

Licks. Long, hot, wet licks, over the boy’s underwear, shaping the heat beneath.

“Gah!” Shuichi arches, hands tangling in his hair. “You . . . I want to . . . make you . . . feel g-good, too . . . Oh!”

Yuki doesn’t respond, just pushes the offending material down and takes Shuichi in his mouth. He never has much enthusiasm for this, but that’s okay, because at least he’s skilled. Shuichi’s not exactly a stickler for holding himself back, anyway.

“Gonna . . . gonna . . . !”

He pulls back and tongues the slit, pumping the stiff cock in his hand. Then he makes a fatal mistake—he looks Shuichi in the eyes.

The boy is beautiful like this. Biting the back of his knuckles, tiny beads of sweat crystallizing on his face and neck, teardrops hanging off his lashes, his clothes in disarray, his hair sticking up, and his chest rising and falling in little half-sobs. “Yu . . . ki!”

Yuki doesn’t break eye contact as he takes Shuichi fully into his mouth, the head of the boy’s prick scraping his soft palate—almost triggering his gag reflex—as it slips deeper into this throat.

“Guh!” Shuichi comes suddenly.

It’s hot and thick and pungent.

Yuki holds it in his mouth for a long time. Considering. Then he leans over and spits into the trashcan under the nightstand. He stands up, fixing his shirt and running a hand through his hair.

Shuichi looks boneless but confused, draped on the sheets like a model for an erotic painting. “Yu—?”

“Get out.” Sharp. Cold. Words shaped like ice-chips. “You’ve been satisfied, haven’t you? Now, go play. The grown up has real work to do.”

The look on the boy’s face just about breaks him. But he walks casually out of the room, down the hall, and closes the study’s door firmly behind him anyway. In the darkness, he goes to the chair, falls into it, his head in his hands, shaking, the blood bubbling up to compete with the taste of Shuichi’s come.

//Don’t leave,// he thinks, as he hears the front door slam.


End file.
